


Death Ain't The End

by Bennyhatter



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cancer, Daryl is very wise, Death, Love at the end, M/M, Reincarnation, Rick has much to learn, Sad with a Happy Ending, Terminally ill characters, and frank, tumors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: When it comes down to it, we all have a time. Most of us just don't know when it is. That doesn't mean death has to be the end of everything, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic/gifts).



> This came out of nowhere, honestly, and it doesn't exactly have the happiest content, but it's got a good ending, I think. And maybe, hopefully, a pretty good message?
> 
> I'm sorry in advance.

His roommate has a cannula tucked into his nose that leads to an oxygen machine in the wall behind his shoulder. Part of his hair has been shaved away - he's thin and his cheeks are gaunt and there are dark circles under his pale eyes. Despite that, he's got the most beautiful smile Rick has ever seen. It makes him look younger and brings some color back into his grey cheeks.

 

"Don' look much like a reporter," he rasps with a chuckle. It ends in a fit of coughing, and Rick presses a towel already dotted with blood against his cracked lips.

 

"You don't look much like a cop," Rick replies. He tries for teasing and is relieved when he catches a mischievous glimmer in the man's dull eyes.

 

"Was a narc," he's told, those bleeding lips twitching into a crooked smile that steals Rick's breath away and makes his heart thud painfully in his chest. "Tried ta save who I could. Couldn't always, but when I did... made th' job worth it."

 

Dabbing away the blood as gently as he can, Rick bites his lip and reaches for the cup of chipped ice slowly melting on the rollaway table beside the man's bed. He drags one along the quiet man's lower lip and watches him lick it weakly away with a tongue that looks as dry as his lips.

 

"What they got you here for?" he coughs as the cold water irritates his throat before soothing it. He relaxes back against his propped-up mattress with a sigh, sinking into the thin bed and letting his tired eyes flutter closed. Rick glances toward the monitors and bites his lips, flexing his fingers around the Styrofoam cup and trying to be mindful enough not to crush it.

 

"Tumors," he mutters with a shrug. Reaching out, he touches the shaved patch of hair, feeling how soft and fuzzy it is under his fingers. There's a scar that he traces with careful brushes, feeling the difference between he puckered, white line and the rest of his scalp. "This?"

 

"Tumor," his roommate huffs. He rolls his head like he doesn't have the strength to hold it up, looking at Rick with hooded, bleary eyes. "Guess they thought takin' it would help th' cancer in m'lungs. Didn't."

 

"You got a date?" Rick asks. Everyone has a date - most people just don't know theirs. He knows his - six months from now, if he's lucky. Less, if he goes home.

 

"Week?" It comes out sounding more like a question - rasped in an uncaring voice, like it doesn't matter one way or another. "Maybe more, maybe less. Maybe tomorrow - hell, maybe I'll be a miracle. Don' matter anyway. Ain't like I got shit ta go back ta." He laughs again, coughs again, and Rick wipes away the blood just like he's done every time now for the last three days.

 

"You got a name, officer?" Rick asks with a smile. Pale, incredulous eyes pin him in place, pupils dilated by pain and drugs nearly eclipsing a shade of blue that reminds Rick of Georgia skies in summer.

 

"Fuck's it matt'r?" the man slurs. Rick hums and gently runs his fingers through limp, long strands of hair stuck between auburn and chestnut. It feels so brittle, nearly dead but still so beautiful when the artificial light hits it just right and makes it shine with gold undertones.

 

"Could'a checked your chart," Rick points out. "Didn't. Wanted to hear it from you. Figured now's a good time to ask."

 

"... Daryl," his roommate whispers after moments spent listening to his labored, raspy breaths and the slow beep of his heart rate. "Dixon."

 

"Rick. Grimes. Can I kiss you, Daryl?"

 

"Th' fuck?" Daryl looks at him like he's lost his mind, and Rick smiles shyly. "You crazy?"

 

"Nah, not for a while now," Rick jokes. "I like you. We're dying. You're a sweet guy, Daryl. What's the harm in sharing a moment?"

 

"Yer fuckin' with me," Daryl huffs. He's smiling though, just a little, so Rick counts it as a success. Daryl really does have a gorgeous smile.

 

"Swear to God I'm not," Rick promises. He holds up his fingers for Scout's Honor, and Daryl stares at him like can't believe Rick is real before laughing quietly. Rick already has the bloody towel ready, and when he's tenderly wiped the red droplets away he leans in and kisses Daryl.

 

It's far from sexy or sensual. Daryl can barely breathe, and his lips are rough beneath Rick's. The kiss tastes like blood and antiseptic, and just a little bit like something that must belong uniquely to Daryl. He fumbles his way through it, but he's so shy and earnest that Rick cups the side of his clammy face when they pull apart and rests their foreheads together.

 

"Teach me not to be afraid," he whispers into the cool air between them. Daryl's hand is heavy and uncoordinated against his face, fingers catching in his tangled curls, but Rick doesn't mind.

 

"Can't teach ya that," Daryl whispers back. "Gotta come int'a that on yer own, Rick. Gotta come ta terms, an' realize that death ain't goin' away just 'cause we're afraid. Got a helluva lot ta be scared of in th' world t'day. That kind'a certainty shouldn't be part'a it."

 

"Why are you so okay with dyin'?" Rick asks. He sounds lost and childish to his own ears - he can't imagine how Daryl hears him.

 

"Had nothin' ta live for, for a long time." Daryl kisses him again, the barest touch of their mouths that still feels like so much more to Rick. When there's space between them again, Daryl huffs. "Then I realized I had nothin' ta be afraid of even if I did. Spent all my life in pain, Rick. M'ready ta rest now."

 

"I'm gonna miss you, Daryl." Rick feels wetness on his cheeks, and he doesn't try to hide it. Daryl doesn't tease him for it, just smiles and leans back against his pillow.

 

"Not for long, Rick," he promises. "Death ain't th' end, trust me."

 

Daryl's machine sounds the alarm that night. The doctors can't revive him, and Rick cries silently into his pillow, curled into a ball and feeling wretched and relieved in tandem. Daryl is _gone_ \- quiet, shy Daryl with a smile more beautiful than the sun - but he's also not in pain. He's finally at peace, and Rick's smile tastes like salt and love as he closes his eyes and remembers.

 

He goes home against the doctor's orders, and deteriorates faster than they were expecting. He writes notes to a man he barely knew and contemplates his own mortality, and Daryl's quiet, solemn words.

 

Death ain't th' end, trust me.

 

Rick knows when it's his time. He lays his head down and looks toward the window. The pain is so intense he can barely see, but he knows that the sky is blue - pale and blue and beautiful, like a pair of shy, warm eyes. Smiling, he closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the peace of a dreamless, painless sleep.

 

He doesn't open them again.

 

\--

 

"Who're you?"

 

The man is nearly feral in his panicked anger, his hackles raised and his blue eyes sparking with rage and the promise of violence. Rick is at the disadvantage here - he's still recovering from a wound and reeling from waking up in a world where the dead are trying to eat the living. Looking at the man standing coiled and waiting before him, fists clenched and a string of squirrels hooked over one filthy shoulder, Rick feels a sense of familiarity. It's something that stirs inside of him like an old memory waking up, shaking of the cobwebs and unfurling like wings. It's as unfamiliar as it is familiar, something that feels right and odd at the same time.

 

"Rick Grimes," he finally replies. He already knows this man's name. Everyone has been eager to warn him about the redneck.

 

 _Daryl Dixon_. It rings in his ears and makes him sad and relieved at the same time - fills him with sorrow and joy that brims and swells until his eyes feel hot and his heart thumps heavily in his chest.

 

" _Rick_ _Grimes_?" Daryl spits, and he can see it in the man too - pale eyes that remind him of the sky above them and something that recognizes the sheriff's deputy even if they've never met before. "You got somethin' you wanna _tell_ me?"

 

This isn't going to pretty, but Rick doesn't feel afraid or apprehensive. He feels _elated_ , because Daryl is wild and beautiful, and Rick can already tell that this is going to go somewhere incredible.

 

Despite everything happening now, and the aftermath that's sure to be explosive, he can't wait.


End file.
